Harvey
‘Blair secret promise to Bush on Iraq Invasion’ On my table, a newspaper, gin and tonic, and a tin of cashews. Tabloid revelations, the nation shocked, no surprise. Deathly silence all around except for muffled whispers about lamb stew, marble cake, and household renovations. No background music, no crooners, no big band. The Prince Albert,
Easter Lilies
I toss a small cube of sugar into the mix and watch it bubble up through the vodka and champagne. And you smile and we talk about art and life and flower shops with dusty books. And while the red sauce simmers, a little chink-chink, crystal glasses with swans, the Cabernet a fine choice, champagne
Dr Kazinski
In a drunken state of deep despair, I think about Dr Kazinski at his practise in the East End. I think about his posters, torn and wrinkled, showing white picket-fence families eating carrots like rabbits, caring for teeth like all families should. That was a long time ago. Now in the absence of regular dental visits,
Toulouse
Lazarus, that lucky sonofabitch, back from the grave with a hard-on and a grin, winks at some broad holding two rose-coloured decanters like she’s pouring salvation straight into the glasses of the damned. It’s one of those wine-soaked nights in Toulouse where the angels show up in cotton slips, lipstick smeared burgundy, tits half out,